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Dear friends,

A little while ago I got off the phone with my old friend in Virginia. I was not expecting to hear from her tonight: she had a doctor's appointment and is usually too tired afterward to talk. She was in tears when she called. Her life is now measured in weeks, perhaps only in days.

We have tried since November to get together. Between the weather, her health and mine--I've been fighting off a miserable chest cold for nearly two weeks--we have not managed that. Now, we may well not get that opportunity.

I could not--at first--figure out why all of this disturbs me so much. We have not seen each other in more than 40 years--not even exchanged cards at Christmas. But she was among the first people I was close to in high school. We never dated or even thought about it. But I was a freak with few friends--and she was one person who would talk to me like someone human.

Mortality has been very much on my mind lately--even more than is usual for me these last four years. I learned last night my uncle died this summer. Somehow the message never reached me. I spent Christmas Eve with my father. He turns 85 at the end of the month. He may not see 86. I discovered my youngest brother has been so depressed at times he knows what gun oil tastes like. My niece, who is a drug addict, has a third child--a three-year-old--only my sister knew about. That niece is back in rehab after almost three years of being clean. One of her daughters was adopted by my sister, but the other is in foster care. No one is quite sure where the son is.

I'm sitting here tonight listening to the wheeze in my chest and coughing now and again. The doctor put me on an antibiotic yesterday. They took me off it today because I got hit with every minor side-effect the thing has within 12 hours of the first dose. They were supposed to call back with a replacement. They didn't. But the antibiotic was precautionary, so I am not overly worried. Nor should any of you be.

Jane and I have had a long conversation the last few days. I need to get my focus back and set some priorities and start moving forward again. The chest cold is a gentle reminder that I have strayed from whatever path it is I am supposed to be on. It is always the sign of that. Every major decision I have ever made about changing my life has come out of the self-examination the enforced inaction creates. My last one led me directly to Jane.

Tonight, I am surrounded by my ghosts and memories of the ones who soon will join them. In Elie Wiesel's book, Dawn, the protagonist spends the night before a life-changing event surrounded by his ghosts: the mother father and sister he lost in the concentration camps, the ghost of his own childhood, the ghost of the self that was. They wait expectantly to see what he will do--they watch because they want to see him become a murderer--to exact vengeance for all their deaths.

I am not Wiesel's protagonist. I am not a killer. I understand the allure, though, of vengeance. I hate cancers--I hate every one of them. I especially hate the ones for which we have no cure--like the NET cancer that killed Jane, like the triple negative breast cancer that will kill my friend. But my fight against cancer has to be fueled by something other than vengeance and anger. Those two things are taking me apart faster than I can help solve the riddle of cancer. I understand the proverb that he who seeks revenge must first dig two graves.

I love Jane. I love my friend. I love everyone who has died of cancer. I love each of you. I love this world and every creature in it. That people in this world do not always return that love makes no difference. That I do not always know how to express that love makes no difference either.

Love is the thing that has fueled my entire life. I have forgotten that at times since Jane died. The anger, the desire for vengeance, the hatred and the utter aloneness have weakened me and taken me from who I am and what I am about. Each of those things have helped me deal with this sucking chest wound losing Jane created--but I need to find my way beyond those things and back to the first principles that have always been the center of my being.

By my sophomore year of high school I had been beaten down by everyone and everything. My home was an abusive one. At school, I was bullied by even the bullied. I had been to the blackest places in my soul, been tempted by them one by one. Even those places rejected me as unfit for use. Somehow, I was not suicidal. Drugs and alcohol did not tempt me. I was simply too stupid to die--too stupid to give up.

I'd like to say my friend saved me. It would not be true. But she became, with a collection of other misfit toys, someone who would talk to me without setting me up for some new form of torture. Her skin was almost death-white. I don't think she was allowed to wear make-up. We were, none of us, pretty or handsome physically. The others were more talented than I was. One wrote poetry at 15 that still makes me cry. My friend snapped up languages like potato chips. Two or three others were actors and artists. They intimidated me--but they did not laugh when I said something. I felt like little more than their dog most of the time. But I was a dog they liked--or at least one they did not kick at for sport.

They may, each of them, have felt the same. We'd all been kicked around by life pretty badly. One was adopted, another had lost her father to cancer when she was in junior high school, some had alcoholic and/or abusive parents. We had all learned too much about life and its hardships at too early an age. We knew things that left us open to ridicule when we spoke them aloud. The girls in the group had come out against the War in Vietnam as freshmen and sophomores. One of them had been at Martin Luther King's "I have a dream…" in Washington D.C.

But it was something else to be male and an avowed pacifist in that place and time--just as it was something else to be the first to go through puberty, male or female. I'd been the second boy to go through puberty in our class. I was the first to declare the war wrong and myself a pacifist. Neither was pretty. But at least I had friends in my corner by the time I was a junior--even if they all were female and of absolutely no use in the boys locker room.

I survived. Not all of us did. Some died of drug overdoses, others of suicide, others in rice paddies in Vietnam.

Until Katherine, the deaths have all been at a remove. We have drifted apart since high school, pursuing different paths and dreams. Some have become conservative, others liberal. Some have ceased to care while others have cared too much. Some of us have found and lost love--and others are still looking. Her illness and soon-to-be death remind me of the bright promise we all once had in ourselves.

A few months ago, Katherine asked me if I thought we had made a real difference in the world. She spent most of her life teaching ESL courses in programs for adult immigrants--a thing she saw as inconsequential sometimes. She'd seen herself in high school as a poet and author. She has written, but never published a word beyond the scholarly things she did in graduate school and a brief blog when she went through her first bout with cancer.

I told her--and I meant it--that on the world stage, neither of us had done much. But there is, to me at least, a more important stage than is inhabited by senators, congresspeople, and heads of state. Every time she taught an adult to read and speak in English well enough to fend for themselves, she set not only that adult free from ignorance, but freed the children who would otherwise have been forced to give up their own development to become translators for their parents and grandparents. Those children could grow to their full potential because of that seemingly small gift she gave their parents. I told her that was more important work than presidents can even imagine doing.

Every small action of love changes the world in ways we cannot comprehend. Who can say what one of those children may become? My students have become better parents to their own children than they might have been because we talked about the importance of reading to a child, of having family dinners, and a home in which books and newspapers and magazines are plentiful. I watch, too, their conversations on Facebook and other media. They consume information voraciously--but they do more than store up a bunch of factoids. They think about what they learn and what it means and how it applies to making things better--not just for them--for everyone.

The world is a better place because Katherine and Jane lived in it and worked in it. I got a card last week from a former student. She said she wanted to thank Jane and me not just for preparing her for college, but for the life lessons we taught at the same time we were instructing them in Chemistry and English. Those lessons, she said, came not just from how we worked in the classroom but also from the way in which we conducted our lives--even the tiny bits of it that they could see.

I have little use for the Gods of the various religions. They seem capricious figures with the attitudes of teenagers at best--and jackals at worst. But sometimes I can see divinity. It is naked love. It does not ask for worship. It asks only that we embrace the full potential of what it is--and in doing so embrace the best of what we are.

My friend Katherine goes home soon. I think there, in that garden of love and delight, she will find her sister Jane and they will know each other and that what they did in the world does matter--and will matter. I hope they will think of me kindly--and as not too great a fool for missing them both here in the vineyard.

Peace,

Harry

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Dear Harry,

I am so sorry to hear your news. I was hoping you were due for a respite from all the sadness that seems to be present in your days. When we are the "odd one out" in school, even if we find a few other odd ones, we carry that sense of being in another culture with us for all our lives, I think. And yet, here you are, involved in life, back from what must have been a difficult time with your family as you shared and became entangled in all their lives. I am sorry. I don't know how you could be feeling anything but very deflated emotionally here at the end of the holidays, after your visit with family while your Father is slipping away, and then to come home to a call from a friend facing her last days.

I am just so sorry you are going through all of this right now.

Your writing is poignant, shaded with sadness, and carries a weariness I have not heard in your (written) voice before. Perhaps it is time to give yourself a staycation, and spend time in meditation and self care. You have had a rough month, with more rough days ahead.

Peace to your Heart, and Healing.

fae

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I am so sorry to hear this news, Harry. You sound weary, tired, ill, and in need of a huge hug from those who understand this journey of grief. I know your Jane is with you. I am familiar with Elie Wiesel's book, Dawn, and NO you are not a protagonist. You are a brave soul who has been standing up to cancer for years now. Having spent time with your father you are looking back on what life has given you. You rose above all these obstacles and you did survive. We know that our life cycle is a beginning and an end. We will not fully understand this until we are once again with Jane, Jim, Pete, Bill, Mike, Doug, Dragon, Ron, Paula, and all the rest of our soulmates and loved ones who have gone before us.

I hold you in my heart and wish for you a peace in knowing that you are enough and you have done enough, and that is all we can expect. HUGS

Anne

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Harry,

I'm so sorry to hear the news of your friend. I think you have answered your own question as to why it disturbs you so much. Because of the simple fact that she is your friend, and that she is being taken from you by the beast that has taken so much from so many of us. Being on the CSN forum daily, I watch more & more of my cyber friends slipping away. It is all so cruel & senseless. Cancer does not discriminate. Our latest warrior to lose his battle passed away on his 32nd birthday.

You, Jane, & Katherine may not have been or now exist as stars on the "world stage", but those like you are stars on the "stage of life", that stage where it really matters. You give of yourself for the betterment of mankind. No one could do more.

Please take care of that cold & I hope the doctor will get the new antibiotic soon.

Karen

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Harry, I am so sorry, it seems you have received one blow after another this past year. I totally understand why this upsets you so much. Cancer is the enemy...all fatal illnesses are. They are a monster, devouring all that is good. You have fought long and hard to combat this enemy and I'm sure you feel defeat with each one that dies...but the truth is, you ARE making a difference. Sometimes it's hard to measure when we're still in the throes of it, but mark my words, it's there.

My heart goes out to you with this distressing news.

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Harry, your description of your earlier life and your responses to it explains so much about what you are now, a very wise, loving human being who has made so much impact upon those around you. It takes it's toll and in a cruel world you need your soul mate, your Jane, to buoy you up at such bleak moments. I hope you can feel that she is still there alongside you. I don't get any moments of real closeness with my Pete but deep in my uttermost being I do feel he is with me, as I know Jane has to be with you.

Sharing our thoughts on here really does help. I am so very very sorry about your friend, and your father, and everyone else who is suffering in your life, including of course you. Jan

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My dear Harry,

Everyone (above) has certainly voiced my own thoughts in regard to all you have been through in your life and recent months and years. I am so sorry another loved one's death looms nearby and I am sorry for all the pain life has placed in front of you. You are indeed, grace under fire. You keep on keeping on determined to live from love (your motivation since forever).

When you tell me not to worry about your wheezing chest, I have to say that I have had two rounds of pretty serious pneumonia since Bill died after a lifetime of nothing more than a head cold. I do hope that MD listened, at least, to your lungs if not xrayed them. You do sound weary and worn down by death and loss and life and I do hope you will listen to the feedback here and take some time out before trekking onward. End of my sermon.

Know that you are loved and cared about and I know I see the goodness in you and the love that drives you forward.

Peace to your heart and health to your body,

Mary

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Harry, dear friend, how I wish you could listen to your own words as if directed at yourself and the significant difference you have made (and continue to make) in the world. You are eloquent in your ability to describe what Jane and others have done with their lives, yet you yourself have done as much, if not more, with your own. If I've learned anything through living my own life and through listening carefully to the life stories of others, it is that (if we're being honest), none of it is really easy for any of us (thank you, Scott Peck) ~ and it seems to me that the most important lesson we're in this life to learn is how to love one another (including ourselves). You are a shining example of a person who lives your life by actively loving your fellow man ~ and my prayer for you is that you will extend that same love to yourself. Please shine some of that love on yourself, take good care of you, and know how very much you are loved, certainly by all of us.

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Harry, you are anything but stupid. I'm sorry you endured bullying as a young person, I did a bit in grade school but nothing serious, it just made me feel ostracized at the time. Different, outcast. Bullying is serious and all too common. I hope the education about it makes a difference in the future.

You have had so much going on, so much bad news, so many family dilemnas, it's no wonder one thing piles up on top of another...the bad thing about that is that instead of dealing with the one new thing, it's piled up so bad it can overwhelm. I hope you will be able to separate Katherine's situation from all of the other calamities in your life so you can grieve the impending loss of her without the added burden of everything else that has gone on. It's just so hard. I'm sorry you lost your uncle, sorry for your brother's depression (I hope he's getting help for it), and sorry about your sister's addiction and her children's plight. I'm sorry you won't have your father much longer, I know how that one feels.

As for the wheezing, Mary is right. I've had Pneumonia, it's nothing to mess with, you don't care if you live or die, it's all encompassing. Please call your doctor's office and remind them of their remiss this morning. That will give them all day to call in the Rx so you can get started on it. We have to be proactive for our health, doctors don't seem to take on the responsibility for it like they should.

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Dear friends,

Thank you all for your kind words and thoughts. Reading through them reduced me to good tears. I knew you would understand.

The doctor called this morning--or his nurse did. They changed the medication and so far--after the first dose, I seem to be tolerating it pretty well. I'll spend the rest of today and tomorrow sitting in my study with my feet up doing nothing more strenuous than typing and thinking. I've had pneumonia a couple of times in my life and am in no hurry to support an encore performance or host a revival. I was younger then. I remember going to sleep one night and saying, "I could wake up tomorrow--or not" and being completely at peace with the idea that either outcome was OK. But Mr. Frost was right: I had promises to keep...

I expect the phone will ring at some point this afternoon or tonight and I will do what I can for my friend from 400+ miles away--which is mostly listen and try to give comfort. Jane was not my first experience with that. I doubt Katherine will be my last. Someone wrote to me this morning in response to a note I had written them that I am a good crutch to those who are at the end of their lives. It may be true but I am not sure how I feel about that.

In reading through what I wrote last night I did hear the exhaustion in it you've all remarked on. It is true that there is just so much going on that I feel overwhelmed by it all. The Seattle trip was supposed to be a vacation--and at times it was. But the emotional content at times seemed to defeat every attempt at relaxation. I came home more exhausted than when I left. I meditate for long stretches every day: it has been part of my daily practice since childhood; I try to turn every activity into a kind of meditation. I chant, I visualize, become the empty bowl and the uncarved block; I read the Tao, the Bible, the Buddhist scriptures; I become completely focussed on washing the dishes or potting plants; I lose myself in the construction of a poem or an essay or a bookshelf. Just now, though, the water is not still--it is a roiling, rock strewn stream running well above flood stage. In my deepest self, I know it will pass--that if I hold myself still and let the water take me--rather than fighting it--it will carry me safely through this chasm. If only I could get the rest of my self to listen to that knowledge...

I spent part of my morning writing letters to people running committees I serve on. I told each that for the next two months, perhaps more, I may--or may not--be at meetings--but that other things need my attention. They should not count on me being there again until I have resolved some of the other issues I am dealing with--and that they need to find others to do what they normally would have asked me to do. Since I "own" Walking with Jane I cannot leave it hanging in the wind, but even there I will have to slow some projects that can be slowed for a time. Some things--federal forms and the like--can't be delayed, so I will have to get them done. But other things will have to wait a bit longer, much as I hate the thought.

In my saner moments, I know I have made a positive difference in this world in very many ways. But when I was a kid, my father ordered my brother and I to clean the basement periodically. Sometimes we worked well together, but sometimes my brother was lazy. I'd have half the cellar done while he was still futzing in one relatively clean corner. I would tell my father I had done my half. His reply was always that I had to work until the entire job was done. That bit of programming is still in my brain: no matter how much I may do, my work is only done when the entire job is finished. Not logical or reasonable, I know, but it is the reality I live with.

Thank you all for listening to me maunder. Tomorrow will be better. And if not, the day after...

Peace,

Harry

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Harry, I have nothing more to say than has been said. Everyone has said it much better than I am able. You have the gift to put your feeling and thoughts down where others can read them, and create such emotion in the reader. Please maunder often.

I hope you are feeling physically better, first things is caring for yourself, as you know. I am so sorry about your friend.

Mary (Queeniemary) in Arkansas

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Harry, I hope you're beginning to see some signs of improvement, I'm glad they adjusted your medicine and hope that does the trick!

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Dear friends,

I got some good news from my friend in Virginia. She got a call from NIH and may be qualified for a trial they are doing on a targeted therapy. She is going up to NIH in DC January 21. She was much more upbeat when we talked last night.

My own health continues to be stubborn. The new meds are not causing any problems so far, but I don't feel any better yet, either.

I had a visit from Jane in a dream this morning. I won't go into the details, but I am more at peace today than I have been in a long time.

My plan is to spend today pretty much the same way I spent yesterday: feet up in the study, reading, writing, and thinking about nothing more stressful than what I am going to plant next spring. Today is the 37 month anniversary of Jane's death. Normally, I would go to her grave for a bit today, but I know she'll understand why I'm not there.

Peace,

Harry

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This sounds like hopeful news for your friend in Virginia. You are doing a very smart thing by staying put and taking care of yourself, Harry. Whatever 'bug' you have you want to flush it out of your system. Those of us who are older can tell you that when you reach a certain age it is not as easy to bounce back. You'll have to start thinking about it in a few years! ;)

Your Jane knows if you don't get out today. She knows.

Anne

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Harry,

I am glad to hear you got a bit of good news, and that your friend is being given a spot in a clinical trial. There have been some remarkable results from some recent clinical trials.

I hope you are resting and doing nothing, and letting all your energy go into healing your body. I know you are usually very active and goal-oriented, but right now, as Mary could remind you, your body needs for you to have the goal of healing, and to rest, rest, rest. Let your energy heal you, even as the medication fights the bugs.

And even if you do not believe in fairies, here is some fairy dust filled with all good wishes for healing for you.

*<twinkles>*

fae

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Who said I don't believe in Faeries? :)

H/

Obviously, some gremlin. :closedeyes:

I hope you are resting and healing and that you have more dreams with Jane. I love that you two are together in your dreams. That is lovely.

*<twinkles>*

fae

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Dear friends,

I got a text from my friend last night. She said she was not up to talking the last few days: between the pain and the meds she has mostly been sleeping on and off.

I had hoped to visit her early next week. I suspect she is rethinking the likelihood of that. She is supposed to meet with the NIH people about the trial January 21. Given her current state, I am not sure that meeting will happen, either.

Gods, but I hate good-byes and the knowledge there is so little I can do.

Peace,

Harry

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Harry,

I am so sorry to hear about your friend. There seemed to be some hope with the NIH trials. Harry, I am sure that your friendship and your caring mean a great deal to her, and that your friendship is a wonderful way to do something. I think just knowing she can talk with you means a lot to her.

I hope easier days are ahead of you, and that you are taking care of yourself and letting your lungs heal completely.

*<twinkles>*

fae

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Harry, I am so sorry. Your life has been so filled with loss and death...I am just sorry. My thoughts and prayers for you, Mary

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Thanks guys. I just don't like no-win scenarios. This increasingly looks like yet another one.

Buddha says, "Life is suffering." I don't accept that either. Life contains suffering but is not defined by it. We ease the suffering of those in need of that, but their suffering defines neither them nor us.

But for this very now, helping people through what they have to suffer is part of my life. I just hope I am doing it well enough to be of use.

Peace,

Harry

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Harry, my dear, I don't know if this will help, but I find these words from Lou LaGrand to be wise and comforting:

Whenever I give a lecture or workshop on grief or coping with the death of a loved one, I usually begin with an insightful Chinese proverb well-known in the grief literature. “You cannot prevent the birds of sorrow from flying over your head, but you can prevent them from building nests in your hair.” The proverb points out two extremely important concepts. The first: All relationships end in separation, divorce, disagreement, incarceration, or relocation, to name a few causes. And “the birds of sorrow” will fly over your head and reappear throughout life. Bad things happen to all of us; brokenness permeates life, which is unpredictable and at times unfair. As many therapists tell their clients, “the problem with fairness is that it doesn’t exist.” Nothing you can do can give you immunity to the loss of loved ones. There are no exemptions: Everyone dies and walks through the doorway of death. It follows that grief and suffering are forever part of the human condition.

Nonetheless, although all physical relationships must come to an end, our emotional relationships do not . . . after death, a new relationship is born: one based on memory, legacies, gratitude, and the fact that love lives on. That’s where the second important concept from the proverb comes in, and also the significance of Extraordinary Encounters. We can prevent sadness from taking root in our lives if we open ourselves up to mystery. The love we share with the deceased remains with us forever and is expressed through the gift of the Extraordinary Encounter . . . The loved ones in our lives will always strengthen us and inspire our noble deeds. Suffering is built into the very nature of our existence, but Extraordinary Encounters help us work through our grief and keep love strong.

[source: Lou LaGrand, in Love Lives On: Learning from the Extraordinary Encounters of the Bereaved, © 2006 by Louis LaGrand, Ph.D., Berkley Books, New York, ISBN # 0425211932, pp. 59-60.]

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Oh, Dear Marty,

I love you so much! You come up with the perfect words and links for me many times. I clicked on the link above ^ and wondered if I should order the book. And then I began to laugh, thinking how much I do not need convincing, not with the continuing Extraordinary Encounters I seem to have almost daily, sometimes hourly. :) I just cannot stop smiling. Thank you for a delightful little gesture of synchronicity and joy.

You are a very good (ahem) *Angel*

And Harry, faes are angels. When I was little, my gram told me that birds and butterflies, dragonflies and bees, all become fairies when they die. Only in her language, they are called another name that means the little, good people who live in the forest. Fairies. :) We used to look for them in the deep woods. :) And we found a few. ) The good little people who talk to flowers and make things grow. The elders told me I was one before I came this time. Well, who am I to argue with the wise ones? :wub:

So, dear Marty, I am learning how to get rid of the nests in my hair. Thank you for that lovely image. (Remember from My Fair Lady, when Higgins asks why are they always fussing with their hair, why don't they straighten up the mess inside?) I am taking back my strength, courage, and power. I used to be fairly awesome. I still am. Because I am surrounded by awesome. I know I would not be where I am today, healing and recovering myself, had it not been for the love of this Tribe. This fire burns with great beauty and brilliance. And so do the hearts of those gathered around it. :) Thank each of you. And these audios by Belleruth Naperstek are remarkably awesome. This place is a treasure map with treasures anywhere one digs. :)

The new countertops are in, I helped with the work, my new stove now looks gorgeous now that it is properly installed, and Monday the plumbers will be here and I will have water in the kitchen again. I am camping out with great glee. :) I go to celebrate with EmergenC over ice. :) Cheers! I am getting control of my brain back. It is remarkable.

Then, I will go to meditate.

namaste,

fae

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